Brent

“ I see Brent every step and every moment. He was a model comrade.
Camp-life tests a man thoroughly. Common toil, hardship, peril, and sternly common viaticum of pork, dough-cakes, and coffee sans everything, are a daily ordeal of good-nature. It is not hard for two men to be civil across a clean white tablecloth at a club. If they feel dull, they can study the carte; if spiteful, they can row the steward ”

“ The man continued to stand, growing more and more excited. Had he been a keener observer he would have seen that under Brent's suavity there was a scarcely hidden nervousness.
Finally Brent leaned over and spoke in a whisper, looking about as though the very walls might have ears.
"My dear fellow," he confided, "for some time I have been considering your water-motor. I will return the model to you—release the patent to the world."
He drew back to watch the effect on the aged inventor. Could it be that Brent was lying? Or was it fear? ”

“ Brent murmured.
"Condemn! Why, sir, I admire him for it! I was early taught to love the truth and shame the devil!"
Brent laughed softly. He got a great deal of fun out of ragging the old gentleman a bit at times.
"If shaming the devil were all," he said; "but think of your neighbors!"
"I think of no one, sir!" The Colonel was fuming now, and glaring impartially at everything about him.
"Then I wonder you've got a friend left. But, all joking aside, I wouldn't take anything for Dale, and have really grown to like him a whole lot. If he could just get over giving me the creeps! ”

“ XI Brent went back to his hotel, to find the town clerk of Hathelsborough waiting for him in his private sitting room. His visitor, a sharp-eyed man whose profession was suggested in every look and movement, greeted him with a suavity of manner which set Brent on his guard.
“I am here, Mr. Brent,” said he, with an almost deprecating smile, “as—well, as a sort of informal deputation—very informal indeed.”
“Deputations represent somebody or something,” retorted Brent, in his brusquest fashion. “Whom do you represent?” ”

“ Lady Meyfield was endeavouring to recall where she could have met her caller.
"I felt it was time the families met," announced Miss Brent.
Lady Meyfield smiled, that gentle reluctant smile so characteristic of her. She was puzzled; but too well-bred to show it.
"Won't you have some tea?" She looked about her, then fixing her eyes upon a dark man in khaki, with smouldering eyes, called to him, introduced him, and had just time to say:
"Godfrey, see that Miss Brent has some tea," when a rush of callers swept Miss Brent and Captain Godfrey Elton further into the room. ”

“ Brent swung at the upraised arm. The bar caught the forearm bones about two inches above the wrist, and he heard them crack. The knife fell; Bibi’s hand sagged over like the absurd stuffed hand of a dummy. But Brent’s gorge was rising over this filthy scramble, this savagery of animals in a cage. He steadied himself, brought the bar down over Bibi’s head, and saw him crumple to the floor.
Brent stood, staring. He felt sick, unsteady, a man who had got up to the neck in some foul ditch. There was no exultation in him, yet no pity. He had downed a mad beast, and he was grim and cautious. ”

“ In the lane at the back of a railway embankment, a lane that appeared to end in all the cabbage patches of a miners’ suburb, Brent found the “green room” of his dreams. It was a tin shed or shelter with no door, where someone had once stored vegetables and tools. Brent took possession, lit one of his candles, and carried out a rapid change. He discarded everything English save his greatcoat, socks and boots. ”

“ Brent groaned. The horse screamed horribly, horribly, — there is no more agonized sound, — and the scream went echoing high up the cliffs where the red sunlight rested.
It costs a loving master much to butcher his brave and trusty horse, the half of his knightly self; but it costs him more to hear him shriek in such misery. Brent drew his pistol to put poor Pumps out of pain.
Armstrong sprang down and caught his hand. ”

“ She entered the lounge wearily, to find Miss Brent the centre of a group, the foremost in which were Mrs. Craske-Morton, Miss Wangle, and Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe. Patricia groaned in spirit; she knew exactly what had been taking place, and now she would have to explain everything. Could she explain? Had she for one moment paused to think of Aunt Adelaide, no amount of frenzy or excitement would have prompted her to such an adventure. Miss Brent would probe the mystery out of a ghost. Material, practical, level-headed, victorious, she would strip romance from a legend, or glamour from a myth. ”

“ Clitheroe was like a lamb whom the shepherd intends first to shear close, then to worry to death with curs, and at last to cut up into keebaubs.
Brent and I kept aloof as much as we might. We should only have insulted the chosen vessel, and so injured our friends. Indeed, our presence seemed little welcome to Sizzum. He of course knew that the Gentiles saw through him, and despised him frankly. There is nothing more uneasy than a scrub hard at work to please a woman, while by-standers whom he feels to be his betters observe without interference. ”

“ Her eyes were dark with some emotion that Brent did not fathom.
“And where will you go?”
He refused to look at her.
“Oh, anywhere. It does not matter.”
“There is nothing that does not matter. And—you want your breakfast. Shall we have it up here in the sunlight?”
Brent’s chin swung round. He stared.
“Just as you please.”
She got up.
“I must light the stove. Or perhaps you are more clever at it than I am. Supposing I wash those plates. I can find some more boxes and make a table and seats here. And I have a packet of coffee in my bag.”
“Mon Dieu!” said Brent. “Life is good. ”

“ Lady Brent listened to this, leaning back in her chair again. When she spoke her voice was even, but her face was white and her hands lying in her lap trembled ever so little. If Mrs. Brent's fury had not blinded her, she might have noticed these signs and taken warning from them, for they had never been shown before, even in the sharpest encounters between them.
"Whatever suffering there is to be," said the low decisive voice, "I shall no doubt feel more than you. You're a very poor creature, and as long as you have something in life to amuse you you won't suffer much through others. ”

“ That plumpness had disappeared in France and Belgium, and Brent’s mental flabbiness followed it out of the German prison camp.
Brent happened to be in a “mixed camp” for the first few months, and he set himself to learn French. He attacked it with such fierceness and assiduity that Alphonse,—his pedagogue, a French waiter with a family in Soho,—accused him of being in love. It was a crude accusation, and Brent demolished it.
“I finished with that—five years ago.”
“No nice little French girl, Mister Beckett?”
“Not even a mam’selle. I want to be able to earn more money. Business—just business.” ”

“ Brent laughed when he had gone.
“Got the weight of four hundred and eighty-one years of history on him!” he said. “Lord! It's like living with generation after generation of your grandfathers slung around you. Four hundred and eighty-one years! Must have been in the bad old days when this moldy town got its charter!”
Next morning Brent buried the dead mayor in St. Hathelswide's churchyard, privately and quietly. He stayed by the grave until the sexton and his assistants had laid the green turf over it. That done, he went to the Abbey House and sought out Mrs. Saumarez. ”

“ The cellar of the Café de la Victoire began to look like a ration-store, and Brent attacked the other necessaries on his list. An army pick and a pile of ammunition boxes in the backyard provided him with unlimited firewood; he carried armfuls of it down into the cellar and stacked it by the stove. He had appropriated the bucket from the well, lest the next comer should take it away. The essentials were shaping splendidly, but Brent was too full of enthusiasm to play at lighting the stove. ”

“ Brent!” he exclaimed. “Delighted, my dear sir—charmed! Not often our humble roof is extended over a distinguished visitor. Take a chair, sir. No, stop—I have an idea.” He seized Brent by the lapel of his coat, and became whispering and mysterious. “Step outside,” he said. “Twelve o'clock—we'll go over to Bull's.”
“What's Bull's?” asked Brent, as they went out into the entry.
Peppermore laughed and wagged his finger.
“Bull's, sir?” he said. “Bull's? Center of all the gossip in Hathelsborough. ”

“ Brent did not rise, but his hand fell lightly on his hip. The smile remained, and his voice came velvet smooth, but something in that purring sound made the group about the table draw back.
“Cards are a gentleman's game, Mr. Cransion,” he said. “They were never meant for yellow dogs. Take your hands off the money, or I'll forget that you have a man's name and remember that you have a dog's heart!”
Cransion straightened as if he had received a blow, glared at Brent for a moment, through narrowing eyes, and then whirled and left the room. ”

“ I remember your words, sir.”
“Very well,” said Brent. “Raise the curtain, Harwood. This room is dim enough to put me to sleep again whether I will or no.”
He drew himself up on one elbow as the light slanted into the room, struck a glimmering reflection from the tall mirror, and glinted on the polished woodwork of the foot of the bed. It fell upon Brent, and showed a lean, pallid face, square chinned, with expressionless eyes.
He was one of those men who at thirty-five look twenty-five, and who at twenty-five might well be considered thirty-five. ”

“ Claire, and Brent was touched by all the little things that she had troubled to remember. After those three days of separation this visit of hers to Beaucourt with this weight of good human stuff on her sturdy shoulders seemed to give to their partnership an essential French and intimate solidity. Brent felt that he mattered to Manon. She had shopped for him, and shouldered the merchandise ten miles. A shallow man would have felt flattered, but to Brent it brought a sense of warmth to the heart. ”

“ Sup, Fulano! This spot was worth the gallop to see Sup, Fulano, the brave, and may no stain of this day’s righteous death-doing rest upon your guiltless life!
Brent was lying under the spruces, drowsing with fatigue, reaction, and loss of blood. Miss Clitheroe sat by watching him. These fine beings have an exquisitely tenacious vitality. The happiness of release had suddenly kindled all her life again. As she rose to meet me, there was light in her eyes and color in her cheeks. ”

“ He turned to Queenie as the man went away. "When shall I see you again?" he asked.
"I always come here every afternoon," she answered. "It's the only change I get. I come here to read."
"Till to-morrow—or the next day, then," said Brent. He nodded and laughed. "Keep smiling! You'll maybe play Juliet, or some other of those old games, yet." ”

“ He paused at the library door, for a moment watching the bent head of the indomitable student, now oblivious to everything except the page before him, hesitated, and then passed on in search of Brent. He seemed to appreciate the uselessness of calling the mountaineer who was in a realm too remote for human interference. ”

“ Jake Shamberlain, seeing the quarrel, came running up. “Now, Brother Brent,” said Jake, “no shindies in this here Garden of Paradise. If the gent has made a remark what teches you apologies is in order, an he’ll make all far and squar.”
[Pg 86]
Brent gave the greasy man a fling.
He went down. Then he got up, with a trace of Bridger’s claim on his red shirt.
“Yer needn’t be so blame hash with a feller,” said he. “I didn’t mean no offence.”
“Very well. Learn to talk like a man, and not like a brute!” said Brent.
The two men walked off together, with black looks. ”

“ Brent realized that most men in his position would have given up the contest and retired from the field in weariness and disgust; but he was not going to give up or to retire. He had a feeling, amounting to something near akin to a superstition, that it was his sacred duty to carry on his dead cousin's work, especially as Wallingford, by leaving him all his money, had provided him with the means of doing it. There in Hathelsborough he was, and in Hathelsborough he would stick, holding on like a bulldog to the enemy. ”

“ I caught the knife from Armstrong. I cut the thong of my girth. The heavy California saddle, with its macheers and roll of blankets, fell to the ground. I cut off my spurs. They had never yet touched Fulano’s flanks. He stood beside me quiet, but trembling to be off.
“Now Brent! up behind me!” I whispered,—for the awe of death was upon us.
I mounted. Brent sprang up behind. I ride light for a tall man. Brent is the slightest body of an athlete I ever saw. ”

“ There must be no chafing of saddles, no dismounting to girth up. That was to be a gallop, I knew, where a man who fell to the rear would be too late for the fight.
Brent, meantime, had rolled up a little stock of provisions in each man’s double blanket. We were going we knew not how far. We must be ready for work of many days. A moment’s calmness over our preparations now might save desolate defeat or death hereafter. ”

“ Why did not she accept the opening of escape that now presented itself and marry Bowen? He could rescue her from all this and what it meant.
"And shall we all be asked to the wedding, Lord Bowen?"
It was again Miss Sikkum's thin voice that broke through the curtain of Patricia's thoughts.
"I hope all Miss Brent's friends will be there," replied Bowen diplomatically.
"And now we shall all have to fetch and carry for Miss Brent," laughed Mr. Bolton. "Am I your friend, Miss Brent?" he enquired.
"She always laughs at your jokes when nobody else can," snapped Miss Pilkington. ”